<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Faith Replaced by Nuanta</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25411003">Faith Replaced</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nuanta/pseuds/Nuanta'>Nuanta</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Faith Misplaced [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bottom Hubert von Vestra, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Hubert von Vestra's sex tears, Light Bondage, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Magic, Top Ferdinand von Aegir</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:55:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,525</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25411003</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nuanta/pseuds/Nuanta</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>To say he is being inconvenienced now is one way of putting it. To say he is annoyed is certainly another. Neither of them is entirely true. </p>
  <p>But <em>flames</em>, what is he supposed to think when his arms are tied above his head and to the bedposts, his balls tight, his cock aching and dripping in a way he’s never experienced before, because damn Ferdinand blasted him with Faith magic right as he was about to come?</p>
</blockquote>Ferdinand explores additional uses of Faith magic in the bedroom. (Can be read as a standalone.)
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Faith Misplaced [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1840249</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>183</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Faith Replaced</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Oops, it's an edging sequel!! Happy Bottombert Monday!</p><p>If you haven't read the first installment in this series, all you need to know is that Hubert has a premature ejaculation "problem" and Ferdinand has discovered workarounds via Faith magic. Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Hubert has dealt with his fair share of annoyances in life. In fact, he’d argue that he’s had to put up with much more than most. Serving Edelgard has required him to endure endless troubles: evaluating soldier after soldier and spy after spy so that not a single one would pose a risk to their plans; rectifying the situation when incompetent underlings undoubtedly trigger unintended ramifications with their less-than-immaculate work; vetting her classmates and buttering them up to ensure their loyalty sticks (and perhaps forging genuine friendships in the process—an unexpected side effect, but a nonetheless welcome one). All this and more, and Hubert has drowned himself in coffee, toiling tirelessly to uphold Her Majesty’s ideals, muttering curses under his breath as he’s being inconvenienced yet again.</p><p>To say he is being inconvenienced now is one way of putting it. To say he is annoyed is certainly another. Neither of them is entirely true.</p><p>But <em>flames</em>, what is he supposed to think when his arms are tied above his head and to the bedposts, his balls tight, his cock aching and dripping in a way he’s never experienced before, because damn Ferdinand blasted him with Faith magic right as he was about to come?</p><p>Hubert agreed to this, is the thing. Just as he’d agreed to Ferdinand’s first forays with the Restore spell in the bedroom, because it introduced a relatively risk-free solution to Hubert’s…<em>shortcomings</em>, as it were, and he’d honestly hoped for its success, because he’d yearned for that fucking just as ardently as Ferdinand longed to give it.</p><p>What Ferdinand von Aegir did to him was inexplicable. There was no rhyme or reason to how his touch sent Hubert fit to burn straight out of his skin at any given instant, how that wondrous smile lit up every nerve, how his hair exhibited a radiance brighter than the sun. How being with him calmed the thrashing creature within his ribcage—gave it permission to soften, to take for himself for once—while simultaneously awakening another kind of beast, the kind brimming with untamed desires.</p><p>He could not regret a second of it, not when it brought them so close to one another, a feat Hubert would have previously classified as utterly impossible. Not when their collaborative endeavors fostered such impressive results, earned them such progress in their five-year war. Not when…not when it allowed Hubert to practice devotion of a different nature, one that he cherished more than he’d ever imagined he could.</p><p>And Edelgard was ecstatic for him. She’d been wholly disinclined to listen to retellings of any of the details, from the saccharine to the vulgar, but. She’d encouraged this. As though his happiness spurred her to greater heights as well.</p><p>In this moment, however, he maybe harbors a few regrets.</p><p>Nothing major, just. His thigh muscles skitter under Ferdinand’s palms as Ferdinand kneels between his legs—unbound, but obligated to spread apart to accommodate his lover. The heat from that chaste contact is equal amounts agonizing as it is soothing, and Hubert squeezes his eyes shut as Ferdinand coaxes the tremors out of his body while cooing some honeyed nonsense he can’t distinguish over the roaring in his ears.</p><p>It does subside quickly enough, and when his legs have gone lax, Hubert opens his eyes to find Ferdinand’s amber gaze focused on him. He can’t help but shift his own just slightly downwards, to Ferdinand’s lips, plush and red and swollen from so many kisses and bites, from taking Hubert’s length.</p><p>He’d expressly neglected that region while they were setting up, instead sitting stark naked directly on Hubert’s chest, pinning him down with sheer muscular cavalier bulk while he maneuvered Hubert’s wrists into the cuffs. Plundering Hubert’s mouth with teeth and tongue as he did, rocking against him just enough to emphasize Hubert’s awareness of his own need, knowing full well Hubert could only buck into nothing in return.</p><p>And then, once he’d deemed Hubert sufficiently kissed, he’d slinked down Hubert’s body, settling into the territory he’d commanded for himself, with Hubert helpless to resist, and then he bent over and took all of Hubert into his mouth in one smooth rush.</p><p>He’d moaned with purpose, sending vibrations through the shaft and setting off the arousal already coiling so tight in Hubert’s gut—he knew exactly what it did to Hubert, and took the greatest delight in proving so—hollowed his cheeks and sucked as if to pull his climax out of him, dragging forth the force of a cresting wave, like Hubert was some debris haphazardly strung along, no way to fight it or contain it, and his only option was to let it overtake him—</p><p>And then suddenly the wet heat of Ferdinand’s mouth was gone, replaced with the chill of air and magic and the tide just. Vanished. Leaving Hubert gasping with the loss.</p><p>Now, the corners of Ferdinand’s mouth are quirked upwards as he’s unable to completely mask his cocky grin. “Well,” he begins, “that certainly appears to function differently when cast before instead of after.”</p><p>“Appears?” scoffs Hubert. He means to gesture to himself, down his body, but—his wrists are still shackled, and the only give they afford him is a slight bend to his elbows so his joints don’t lock. “This is definite.”</p><p>Ferdinand laughs. “Definite as intended?” he asks, because of course he has to be sure. He is always checking in, every step of the way, even when Hubert has no strict need for it, and despite this Hubert still finds himself ridiculously smitten.</p><p>Despite being denied like this, despite Ferdinand’s fingers tantalizingly trekking one at a time up Hubert’s inner thighs, towards the burning core of him.</p><p>He nods anyways. There is no refuting the evidence before them, the fruits of Ferdinand’s research, his brilliant mind put to such filthy use. The experiments they get to perform together. The proud stand of Ferdinand’s own cock, ignored in all this yet receptive to every reaction.</p><p>“Shall we test if we can replicate the effects?” Ferdinand asks, as if he doesn’t already know that Hubert would willingly offer his body again and again for want of nothing more than for Ferdinand to derive his own pleasure from its use.</p><p>Ruthless of him, to take advantage of Hubert’s contradictory state. For Hubert craves it just as fervently as he shies away from it, from the inevitable torment he will be subjected to.</p><p>But Ferdinand will make it good for him, in the end. Hubert trusts that implicitly. And this side of Ferdinand does invoke a fond sort of pride, as well.</p><p>So Hubert watches as Ferdinand’s fingers trail ever closer. His breath hitches when they skim across the short dark hairs of his groin, just a casual tickle, and yet he can’t help but tense around Ferdinand, drawing his legs together and holding him there, boxing him in.</p><p>Ferdinand lets out a breathy chuckle, still leaning over Hubert, and it ghosts over Hubert’s still-stiff cock.</p><p>“I’m not going anywhere, dearest,” Ferdinand assures him, and Hubert glares, because that much is obvious even without Hubert’s assistance. This only incites more wisps of laughter over the head of Hubert’s cock, even as Ferdinand’s fingers slither under to fondle his balls.</p><p>Hubert stifles a noise, gritting his teeth against the swell of heat in his gut as Ferdinand applies careful pressure, working him slowly at first, then faster. Dimly, he registers that this is quite distinct from their previous uses of Restore, because there’s been no relief of release, no chance to mitigate the fire in his veins.</p><p>Ferdinand stokes those flames relentlessly now, and it’s the strangest out-of-body experience, for Hubert is hurtling towards a ledge that he knows he won’t be permitted to crash into, and that knowing is what’s most excruciating of all.</p><p>Ferdinand’s tongue swirls around the head, laps up the bead of precome that’s pooled at the tip, and Hubert tries, he tries so hard to tamp down on the arousal juddering through him, to pull himself back, because he’s so close already, because it’s Ferdinand and it’s overwhelming each and every time no matter how often they lay together. His limbs shake from restraining his hips, refusing to let them snap off the bed when there will be no absolution for it. Yet, for all his plays at control, it frays at the seams, and then it unravels and tangles in knots and Hubert cannot stop the mounting tension from exploding out of him even if he tries, because he’s tipping precariously over the edge and then the rug’s been swept from under him and he’s tumbling over into—</p><p>Nothing.</p><p>Every point of contact is gone, substituted instead with the buzzing flash of Restore’s white light, but instead of healing it is injury, because Hubert has plummeted into a pool of loss, a missed jump, sweet reprieve just out of reach. It hurts, and he hates it. Loves it.</p><p>White and yellow spots dance across the blackness of his eyelids. Hubert doesn’t recall shutting them, nor twisting his head sideways into the pillow, smushed against his cheek. He is panting from exertion as if he’d just sprinted the entire length of the palace’s regal halls in Enbarr, and his throat scratches the way it does after he’s raised his voice.</p><p>Still, he tries to speak. It takes an effort. “What,” he manages.</p><p>One of Ferdinand’s hands is stroking along his jawline. (He doesn’t know what happened to the other one.) Ferdinand’s voice is soft but firm. “Look at me, my darling. Please.”</p><p>Hubert does. Ferdinand looms over him, fiery hair framing his face and falling just above Hubert’s chest, one arm propping himself up while the other caresses Hubert’s cheek. His eyes pose a question.</p><p>“Working as intended,” Hubert informs him. For there can be no other intent save this, this abject suffering Ferdinand wishes to inflict upon him, that Hubert revels in all the same.</p><p>“I am glad to hear it,” Ferdinand says. “How are you feeling?”</p><p>He dares ask this so casually, as if neither of them is hard and throbbing and desperate.</p><p>“Like I’ve been sat on by a horse,” Hubert snarls.</p><p>Ferdinand laughs, and it rings cleanly through the air around them, despite the atmosphere being heavy with musk and sweat. Hubert belatedly realizes his bangs are sticking to his forehead in the moment that Ferdinand’s hand sweeps them aside.</p><p>“An uncommon enough occurrence that no one would believe you,” Ferdinand says, and a stab of irritation flickers through Hubert at that, that he can’t simply grant Hubert his one wretched horse comparison. “However, I think that is confirmation enough of your wellbeing, if you are still capable of spewing such rubbish.”</p><p>“Only because you won’t get on with it,” Hubert gripes, glowering with as much threat as he can muster.</p><p>Ferdinand stills, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Tell me something. What is the minimum number of data points required to effectuate a statistical analysis?”</p><p>“Three,” Hubert answers automatically, and promptly freezes.</p><p>Ferdinand positively beams at him.</p><p>Anticipation and dread trickle simultaneously down Hubert’s spine. Perhaps it should not come as a surprise. Ever since he’d haltingly confessed that he possessed a perverse excitement for being so brutally manipulated, Ferdinand had risen to the challenge, pondering diligently over methods that could satisfy them both. The bindings had proved an excellent addition to their repertoire, but this?</p><p>This is taking them to a level Hubert didn’t know they could attain. He wants to let his morbid curiosity and Ferdinand’s insatiable enthusiasm drive them past the limit. He wants this, and all it entails. He will bear it for a third time.</p><p>Taking Hubert’s silence for the consent that it is, Ferdinand sits back on his heels and, using both hands, kneads at Hubert’s chest. It is not strictly pleasurable—though Hubert cannot protest, not when the cushion of Ferdinand’s breasts are such a comfort to him, in turn—but it’s <em>nice</em>, it’s a break ahead of the upcoming ordeal, and the rhythmic motions quell his restless shivers.</p><p>Until Ferdinand pinches both nipples at once.</p><p>Arousal bursts into full bloom once more, waking every nerve into electric attention. Hubert gasps and writhes, but he can go nowhere, can barely shift from one side to the other with his arms held captive as they are. Ferdinand rubs the peaked nubs between his fingers, sending sparks straight to Hubert’s groin as his cock strains and weeps for more.</p><p>As if Ferdinand can read his mind, he lowers his hips until their cocks are flush together, and then he begins to grind.</p><p>Slick with precome, it’s an easy glide, and Hubert rolls his hips to match him. He groans, unable to contain himself, because the friction is so intense and good and sings to Hubert’s blood, until every fiber of his being is ignited with it, fueled by the strength of Ferdinand’s thrusts against him.</p><p>“Yes,” Hubert moans, the word slipping unbidden from his lips.</p><p>Ferdinand blushes fiercely, as he often does when he is strongly affected. Hubert reaches out to grip Ferdinand’s hips, to help dictate the tempo, but the cuffs stop him in his tracks. His fingers clench as he grasps at nothing.</p><p>“Uh-uh,” Ferdinand tuts, gruff with exertion, though there is no possibility of him coming undone before Hubert does, not with their contrasting stamina. “You do not get a say in this, remember?”</p><p>Hubert is utterly at Ferdinand’s mercy, here, and the sheer force of that reminder is enough to send him shuddering with arousal once more. This is what he’s missed, what he’s needed, and now that he’s finally getting it, he welcomes the searing heat, lets it take him to where he needs to go. He closes his eyes and throws his head back, embracing the pure release of—</p><p>Of—</p><p>He cries out hoarsely, his entire body spasming, but there’s no release, only the anguish of betrayal and so much frantic, unfulfilled need. Every part of him hurts, burns, and blasted Ferdinand had <em>warned</em> him he would test him a third time, and Hubert had only shamed himself by losing sight of that in the moment.</p><p>“Damn it,” he pants, heaving deep breaths to reorient his spinning world; he’s so off-kilter, so turned on yet not, ready to vibrate out of his skin the moment Ferdinand frees him from his constraints. “Damn you. Damn it.”</p><p>“Shh,” Ferdinand murmurs, palms grounding his twitching hips, a pitiful attempt to placate him. “I have you.”</p><p>Hubert grumbles, “You don’t,” and doesn’t care how petulant that sounds, or how false it is.</p><p>A tender kiss is bestowed upon the crook of his knee, and then Ferdinand’s touch is gone.</p><p>“Allow me to make it better,” Ferdinand says, and Hubert blinks at him, the world rearranging itself in time to witness him clamber off the bed and open the bottom nightstand drawer.</p><p>Where he keeps the oil.</p><p>Oh, that will do so nicely as recompense.</p><p>That very bottle is placed atop the nightstand, but Ferdinand continues to rummage around. Hubert doesn’t actually have a comprehensive account of what lovemaking-related items he stores in there, and he struggles to piece together what else they might use, until Ferdinand extracts a dark cloth and closes the drawer.</p><p>“Ah,” Hubert says, staring at the blindfold.</p><p>Ferdinand tilts his head. “Will this suffice?” he asks.</p><p>“Stop stalling,” Hubert retorts.</p><p>A peal of laughter, but blackness descends upon him all the same as Ferdinand fits the cloth over his face. It’s soft, and a high-quality make; Hubert can’t even discern the movement of shadows through the material. He trembles with the tiniest of thrills, the recognition that Ferdinand must have purchased nothing less than the best for times like these. Ferdinand nudges him to crane his neck so that Ferdinand can properly tie the knot at the back.</p><p>Ferdinand’s hands cradle his face as his head is gently deposited back onto the pillow. “Now be good for me, my dear.”</p><p>The hands leave, but Hubert hears the sounds of Ferdinand uncorking the bottle of oil, and the drip of liquid, over his fingers, no doubt. Hubert sucks in a breath as he awaits the intrusion of those fingers, extends and spreads his legs to show his readiness. Ferdinand’s fingers will be inside of him in short order, followed by his cock, and Hubert will be full at last. Ferdinand always feels so good inside him, splitting him open with his girth, taking Hubert apart and making him whole again.</p><p>The heat in his belly flares at the thought, as the mattress sags with Ferdinand’s weight returning to its rightful place between Hubert’s legs once more. Hubert braces himself for that first breach—</p><p>A drop of cold to the shaft of his dick, and Hubert jolts, legs jerking. Ferdinand shushes him, a hand firmly hindering his right leg from lashing out while the left toes curl into the sheets and tug them back towards him, as if they could be any consolation from this affront.</p><p>“What—”</p><p>“Shh.”</p><p>Even as Ferdinand speaks, there is a sudden wet chill right across the slit of his cockhead, and Hubert buckles as the icy burn sets in, folding in on himself, except he can’t, because his arms are bound and Ferdinand has him trapped. A prisoner to what, he doesn’t even know, only that hot and cold are meaningless and he can’t tell if he’s numb or not, but he’s <em>something</em> and whatever it is, his cock pulses insistently with it.</p><p>Then Ferdinand’s hand wraps around him, slick with oil, and it clicks together in Hubert’s mind.</p><p>All the knowledge in the world cannot prevent the unbearable sensation of Ferdinand pumping him steadily, coupled with the frigid brush over his rim—both hands dipped in the oil, <em>oh</em>. A single finger pushes inside, and Hubert hisses through his teeth.</p><p>“Easy does it,” Ferdinand hums, even as his finger explores, probes, curves right up against the spot he knows so well—</p><p>Hubert keens, back arching off the bed, every tendon and muscle pulled taut. He’s drenched all over, from sweat to slick, and his vision erupts with stars beneath the blindfold each time Ferdinand presses against him just so, such that he can’t even tell where Ferdinand’s other hand is anymore, whether it’s still on his cock or roaming his body, because everything is just so much—</p><p>The world shatters into denial yet again, and Hubert mewls, too distressed to do anything else as his body shakes and shakes, aching and grieving and pleading, because why this? Why? Hadn’t he done as Ferdinand asked? Hadn’t he been <em>good</em>?</p><p>Ferdinand’s voice cuts through the white noise, the roaring of his frenzied pulse between his ears. “As predicted, this suits you so very well, my darling.”</p><p>Hubert chokes as he tries to remember how to breathe. “But—you’ve already got your three—”</p><p>“Ah, but we both know that is the bare minimum. And I am well aware how you turn up your nose at lazy work that only just meets the acceptable boundaries for a passing grade. We can do so much better, don’t you agree?”</p><p>Hubert wheezes, “Bastard.”</p><p>Ferdinand laughs, so earnest, not an ounce of mockery present. “Factually incorrect,” he chides lightly. “I swear I will make this good for you, but I absolutely must bury myself in you tonight. You have no idea how delectable you look like this.”</p><p>Hubert means to groan in exasperation, but it comes out in a warble as Ferdinand inserts a second finger, sending liquid fire coursing through his veins once more. His fingers stretch Hubert open, torturously slow. One of his heels finds its way into the meat of Ferdinand’s ass, and he digs in, wordlessly urging him harder, faster. It’s ineffective; Ferdinand works with meticulous deliberation, never revisiting that most sensitive spot, even when he’s three fingers inside, down to the knuckles.</p><p>He has no clue how much time passes before Ferdinand withdraws. Hubert whimpers at the emptiness, but eagerly awaits the next push inside, to finally be stuffed with his lover’s fat cock so that he may find his redemption at last.</p><p>Sure enough, hands grab at him from under his hips as Ferdinand lifts them into the air to ease the way, and Hubert flails blindly before hooking his knees over Ferdinand’s shoulders. With a guiding hand, Ferdinand positions himself to prod at Hubert’s entrance, then pauses.</p><p>The deep-seated ache in his balls and in the base of his cock cries out for the reward Ferdinand still retains from him, and Hubert is nothing but a ragdoll to entertain whatever perverted whim Ferdinand fancies. He feels as though he will combust from the lack of sustenance, and Ferdinand will laugh kindly at him and praise him for it all the same.</p><p>“Hush, dearest,” Ferdinand murmurs, and it’s a wonder Hubert can even hear him at all, over the frenetic beating of his heart hammering against the lining of his brain, and he has no cognizance of whatever sounds he himself might be conjuring to make Ferdinand talk this way.</p><p>He clamps his mouth shut anyways, and his subservience earns him the first glorious inch of Ferdinand’s cock burrowing into his hole. Hubert bites his tongue to impede from vocalizing his joy, his greed, and with painstaking precision, Ferdinand sinks deeper.</p><p>He fights against the noises clawing their way up his throat, the burn as Ferdinand cleaves through him, the throbs spreading from his cock to the rest of his body.</p><p>Ferdinand lays hands on him once more, and Hubert’s entire body lurches.</p><p>A thump and a grunt. “No kicking,” Ferdinand scolds.</p><p>Had he kicked Ferdinand? Hubert doesn’t know. He’s lost track of everything, he thinks that maybe all his limbs have gone numb and there is nothing left but the blazing core of him, right where Ferdinand has begun to thrust, where Hubert bucks into his fist to meet him in turn, and then he’s tripping over a cliff and he’s lost in the most terrifying freefall—</p><p>And then a burst of magic zips through him, along with the stabbing pain of devastation wracking through his groin, because Ferdinand is still pounding into him and it feels so good but it hurts so much. Tears prick at the corners of Hubert’s eyes, and his head spins even as he sees nothing.</p><p>Ferdinand is babbling distantly, but it’s muted by the roaring in his ears. A few words filter through: <em>beautiful</em>, <em>darling</em>, <em>good</em>. They swirl together, mingling with the thunder of his pulse and the harsh rattling breaths and the slap of skin on skin. Somehow, the pressure is still building, and Hubert is certain it has nowhere else to go, that it will keep him on the brink until it destroys him from the inside.</p><p>He can’t take this anymore. He’s been reduced to naught but a cadence of desperate whines, hips grinding down as if to impale himself on Ferdinand’s cock as the thrusts increase in pace, more shallow, more erratic, as his hand squeezes Hubert’s cock as if to wring every last ounce of pleasure and misery from him.</p><p>A growl, or a wail, or maybe both, and then Ferdinand shoves in one last time, spilling hot and deep, filling Hubert to the brim.</p><p>It’s permission; it’s over. Hubert bucks into Ferdinand’s hand, leaping to meet his similar fate, sets the fuel alight, alive, free. Rides the climbing tidal wave and welcomes the incoming crash., lets his climax take him—</p><p>Ferdinand casts Restore again.</p><p>Hubert screams.</p><p>Everything burns, too bright, too vast, and he’s shattered into a million pieces, spiraling into an abyss of endless torment. He’s reeling, twisting and thrashing violently, sniveling and blubbering garbled noises that might have been words in another life. Drowning in waterfalls that collapse over him and force him under.</p><p>His skin is prickling all over, little imprints fluttering up and down his body. Ferdinand is speaking again, praises or promises, all of it futile in the face of this suffering, more than he can bear.</p><p>“Shh, love. You are divine.”</p><p>“Please,” Hubert begs through his tears, the damp fabric clinging to him, streaks caking over the paths to his temples. “I can’t.”</p><p>“You can,” says Ferdinand calmly, sincerely, all authoritative encouragement.</p><p>His voice cracks. “<em>Please</em>.”</p><p>And all Ferdinand does is trace one single, agonizing finger from root to tip.</p><p>It’s nowhere near enough. It’s too much. It can never be enough.</p><p>“Come,” Ferdinand says.</p><p>Hubert sobs, broken, and he obeys.</p><p>He spasms and spills, and it’s relief accompanied by searing pain, like every spurt of icy hot droplets hitting his abdomen stings to pull free, except then the rush of sensation overtakes him, sending his mind careening into a wash of white noise.</p><p>Then everything goes blissfully blank.</p><p> </p><p>The next thing he’s aware of is a whirring in his brain. It’s muffled somehow, like it is swathed in a thick blanket that smothers the vibrations.</p><p>There’s heat. A line of it, all the way down his spine, along his legs. It’s near stifling, but not quite. Another trail of it, perpendicular, over his waist. Rubbing motions into his wrists.</p><p>Hubert opens his eyes.</p><p>He squints, but the lighting is dim, and he adapts reasonably quickly. He’s in bed, lying on his side, facing the nightstand. Ferdinand’s arm is draped across his torso, and those are his fingers massaging his wrists, which are no longer bound. It’s Ferdinand, cuddled up snug against him from behind. Both still naked, but no chill has set in, for Ferdinand’s heaviest blanket is strewn on top of them.</p><p>He twitches, and laces his fingers through Ferdinand’s.</p><p>“Oh! Have you returned to the world of the living?” Ferdinand asks, a tinge of amusement in his voice.</p><p>“Mm.” He frowns. “How long was I out for?”</p><p>“I did not keep track precisely,” Ferdinand admits, “but this was your longest recovery period yet.” His tone morphs into concern. “Are you all right?”</p><p>Hubert shifts, stretches his limbs. A bone-deep exhaustion has set in, and he decides it’s fair to close his eyes again. “Sore. Tired. But otherwise fine.”</p><p>Ferdinand kisses the back of his neck; Hubert melts into it.</p><p>The next question carries an air of uncertainty. “Did I make it good for you, in the end?”</p><p>Hubert rolls over to face him, kisses him twice before adjusting to rest his head against the lush expanse of Ferdinand’s chest, ever his favorite pillow.</p><p>“You did,” Hubert confirms. “Though I’m beginning to fear this has awakened a monster inside of you.”</p><p>“Fear?” Ferdinand teases. “I did not think that was a veritable emotion in your repertoire.”</p><p>“Maybe not.” Hubert sighs and nuzzles closer. Ferdinand’s arms wrap around him, palms settling broad across his back.</p><p>“I think you need sleep,” Ferdinand suggests gently. “We can discuss this again in the morning."</p><p>Sleep is rather appealing, at present. “You sleep too,” he adds, loath to separate from him now.</p><p>A tender kiss to Hubert’s brow in lieu of answer, and, satisfied, Hubert lets himself drift in comfortable peace.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Shoutout, as always, to goop and unrivaled for their awesomeness in gdocs, and for all the help and encouragement. </p><p>F in the chat for me, who may just have to write a third installment and make this a proper trilogy, because damn it, three's a better number than two.</p><p>As always, feel free to scream at me on Twitter! <a href="https://twitter.com/nuanta_fic">@nuanta_fic</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>